The week before Christmas is always a dead zone at work,
where nothing really gets accomplished, but no one can just say, "Fuck
it. I'm going home to get back in my underpants and watch DVDs" because
you don't have any vacation days left. With more free time on your hands
and less work to actually do, well, invariably those thoughts turn into
opinions and those opinions are mailed in to the Black List by clicking
that toilet over there on the right.

To celebrate the holidays and help the workers of the
world burn at least six-and-a-half minutes of productivity, we present
10 reviews, covering everything from the changing Google logo to Christmas
itself.

With underpants on and DVD remote in hand, the Black
List wishes you all a: Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and Happy Kwanzaa.
And if you don't celebrate anything, have a nice day.

JESUS' BIRTHDAY: There's always a big celebration
at my parent's house for the world's most famous Jewish carpenter and
I really want no part of it this year. Last year Jesus threw up all over
my couch after his 2,002 shots of Rumplemintz. And he insists on blowing
out all the candles on his cake even though he's been burning down their
kitchen since like 1974. And he always complains. I've never seen such
a complainer: "This cross is heavy! My feet hurt! Nobody listens
to me until it's too late!" Sometimes I just want to yank his beard
and punch him in his thorny head. Why should Jesus hog all the attention?
There have been other famous people born on Dec. 25. Sissy Spacek star
of "Carrie", baseball's all-time stolen base leader Rickey Henderson,
and Henry Thomas, wonder-eyed kid star of "E.T." were all born
the same day as Mr. I-died-for-your-sins-so-you-could-be-happy. Bah, he
can save the guilt trip. I'm onto his game. Jesus had better look elsewhere
for fawning adulation, piles of gifts, and undying love. There's no way
I'm spending Dec. 26th cleaning the couch again this year. D- --
A.J. Daulerio

IN AMERICA: Jim Sheridan's semi-autobiographical
"In America" isn't the immigrant movie the trailer portrays
it to be. The Sullivan family is not in America so much as New York, and
New York is foreign to one and all unless you were actually born in one
of the five boroughs. (And even then ) The Sullivans are broken,
as Sheridan tells us in the first five minutes. Once there were three
children and now there are two. And the Sullivans have had a great fall
as a result. Though there are some needlessly sentimental moments in this
(The Langley Schools Music Project "Desperado" ripoff to name
one), but they were forgivable. Taking on life, death, love, redemption,
and forgiveness can be pretty heady stuff. But Sheridan, who co-wrote
the script with his daughters, doesn't pander to us. He just makes his
characters likeable and compelling enough to make you want to hang out
with them longer, well past the ending credits. Notice is due to the Bolger
sisters, who play the Sullivan daughters. These are children who act like
children, not children trying to be adults trying to be children. If you're
looking for a movie to see with the folks (only The Dad likes LOTR), this
will satisfy everyone. B+ -- Aileen
Gallagher

THE FLAVOR FLAV ALARM CLOCK: You dialed 911
a long time ago, and you want to see how late they reactin'? That's why
there's a Flavor Flav alarm clock. Flav, as you old-school hip-hop fans
remember, was the comic jester in the otherwise deadly serious Public
Enemy, and one of his trademarks was an enormous clock he wore on a rope
around his neck. The alarm clock reproduces this look, except that Flav
has no knees, like Hank Hill's father. Hit the snooze when you hear such
Flavisms as "Bass In Your Face," "Get Up Get Down,"
"Yo G Yo," and, of course, "Yeaahhhhh Boyeeeeeee!!!"
This would seem to be the perfect gift for your sophisticated bitch who
wants to bring the noise every morning, but at $85, you'd need a Terminator
Amex to pay for it. The revolution will be merchandised. B -- Bob
Cook

STEVE BARTMAN-RELATED AUCTIONS: Let me get
this straight -- the lawyer (naturally) who caught the foul ball Chicago
Cubs fan Steve Bartman unwittingly tried to intercept from outfielder
Moises Alou, the play that somehow single-handedly destroyed the Cubs
in the 2003 National League playoffs, goes for $106,000? And it's bought
by Haray Caray's restaurant, which is going to destroy it in February?
And Bartman doesn't get a stinkin' dime out of this? That's just wrong.
On the other hand, the infamous ball sold for the same price as a Mickey
Mantle home-run ball from the 1964 World Series, so that should tell Bartman
now is the time to cash in on his infamy. First item up for bid: his Walkman.
C -- Bob
Cook

THE EVER-CHANGIN' GOOGLE LOGO: On many important
and/or interesting days each year, I would go on completely unaware that
it was the anniversary of flight, or Boxing Day in Canada, or. . . whatever.
These holidays are good to know about, in some twisted and sad sort of
way. Thanks to Google, who elects to change their logo on holidays so
as to inform us of whatever important day it is, I do not have to go through
life oblivious to Flag Day. A- -- Miss
Tenacity

THOSE SUPER LONG, SUPER SKINNY SCARFS: How
come this trend hasn't gone away already? I expected long skinny scarves
to go the way of the trucker hat and flash mobs -- to be declared over
as soon as they were in. But no, I see them everywhere. On hipsters and
dorks alike. Last night at about 2 a.m. in some an uncool part of Brooklyn,
some guy is obviously freezing his ass off, long skinny scarf draped across
his neck -- flying out behind him, long enough that he almost tripped
on it. Was it warming his neck? Okay, maybe a 1 inch by 3 inch part of
the back of his neck where the stupid scarf was touching his body. The
rest of the 12-foot fringed wacky-striped piece of yarn was trailing behind
him. Was it keeping him warm? No. Was it making him look cool? Hardly.
Was it tripping him up, almost sending him flying into oncoming traffic?
Why, yes! Hmm... maybe they're not so bad after all.... D -- kowgurl

HANDBAND, THE AIR INSTRUMENT TOY: While
I was looking through the Sunday ads, I noticed a gem of a toy at Toys
R Us called "HandBand". "HandBand" is toy that enables
kids (or adults even!) to create realistic guitar, keyboard, or drums
sounds simply by wearing gloves that detect your movements and transmit
signals to an overly large receiver/speaker that you clip onto your belt.
Most of us can relate to a situation in which one would need a toy like
this. And that situation is whenever you are listening to a song, and
the "sweet part" of the song comes up, whether it be a Dave
Grohl drum fill, a Jimmy Page guitar lick, or even a piano synthesizer
breakdown in a Rush song, or my personal favorite Heart's Magic Man (4:00
minutes in, I highly suggest you check it out). At this point in the song,
it is almost mandatory to break out an air instrument. People usually
default to an air guitar, but an air drum fill, or air piano lick can
both be equally satisfying. So, what do you do when playing air won't
cut it anymore? Get HandBand, and it will translate your flailing arm
movements and random finger wiggling into pure rock n' roll. (...and no
this will not make you cool) D- -- Jeff
Chin

THOSE LITTLE BACKPACKS WITH WHEELS: Ah
the joys of riding the D.C. Metro on a daily basis. Between the sardine
can cars, the all-too-often delays, and the obscenely obese government
workers, I didn't think it could get much worse. But, you see, now there
is a growing contingent of assclowns towing their backpacks on wheels.
Not big backpacks, mind you, but normal size backpacks. I just don't get
it. You take up extra room on the train, and run over my feet at least
twice a week. What could you possibly have in there that you have to wheel
around? Rocks? Your fucking XL size lunch? People that have these fall
into one of 2 groups -- really lazy, or too fat to be able to wear it
properly. Please, I'm begging you-lose the wheels. There's a reason they
call it a BACKpack, asshole. F+ -- Adam
Brecher

WORKPLACE MARTYRS: Normal worker bee: Works
8 hours. Goes home. Has a life. Workplace martyr: Cannot leave. Even when
there's nothing to do. They create work for themselves -- just make stuff
up. Exhibits delusions of grandeur wherein they truly believe their employer
cannot stay in business without their constant presence. They don't go
to lunch ("Oh, I'll be ok, I'll just eat some red vines at my desk
-- I'm just so busy!). They stock-pile sick and vacation days ("It's
just NEVER a good time for me to get away!). They are also masters of
guilt ("Oh, you're leaving? Is it five already? I'll be lucky to
get out by 7" -- or, see variation: "It's five o'clock. Why
are YOU still here? Aren't you usually gone by now?") These people
exist solely to make the rest of us look bad. They must be stopped. Do
your part to stop martyrs in the workplace. Leave at 5! D- -- Sybil
Slavin

GETTING INTO AN ACCIDENT THE FIRST TIME IT
SNOWS: Every year, on the occasion of the first snowfall, there are
those drivers who do not alter their speed or driving habits in the least.
Then you see them up the road, in the ditch, shaking their heads like,
"how could this have happened to me?" And then you drive by
them, safely going 15 mph, hunched over the wheel, traction control on,
thinking, "what a yutz". This year I was the yutz. Am the yutz.
I took a Michigan corner on glass-slick packed snow at my usual 10 mph
over the posted limit, thinking only of how to endure the next five hours
at my in-laws, spun out, locked my brakes, and clipped the curb. Not so
much "clipped" as "slammed into and bent the front tire
at a 90 degree angle, causing the transmission hose to rupture, spraying
red trans fluid like so much blood". (Actually, it was my husband
who was driving, I just wrote this in the first person so he'd let me
submit it. I had to spend all day at the in-laws. But I got some laundry,
catalog reading, and support garment discussing done so it wasn't a total
failure.) D+ -- Elise
Gilmer